


Beautifully Broken

by imaginemotherofdragons



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: AU, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Assault, Clay and Gemma are dead, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, F/M, Internalized Victim Blaming, Jax Teller/OC - Freeform, Kinda, Low Self Esteem, M/M, NON/CON, POV First Person, POV Third Person, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Pre Season 1, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, domestic abuse, just cause I want em to be, no beta we die like men, very much so eventual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginemotherofdragons/pseuds/imaginemotherofdragons
Summary: When Charlotte's car overheats outside of Charming, CA she certainly doesn't plan on staying. A group of bikers convince her otherwise. Will they be enough to protect her from the terrors of her past?She doesn't think so.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Thanks for checking out my fic!! Please let me know what you think babes. Fair warning that Charlotte, my OC, is quite the mess and her thoughts can be confusing at times. 
> 
> My Tumblrs are @awesome--username (personal) and @somanyshipsss (writing)  
> I'm quite active on there and prompts/requests are always open.

“Fucking heap of trash.” I snarl, clambering out of the faded red Jeep. Billowing white and grey fumes pour out of the front grill. It had overheated before, several times, but not quite this badly.

It could be worse.

Lifting the hood and waving away the cloudy air helps somewhat.

Resigned to sitting on the side of the road for a few hours, I recline in the driver's seat and drum my fingers anxiously against my thigh.

A meaty black head lodges itself beneath my elbow. "Hiya Atlas,” I murmur, rubbing the beast of a dogs head. Panic begins to build up, slowly but surely, in my chest at the potential danger of this shit situation.

Needing something to do besides contemplate my imminent torment, I unplug my phone from the cigarette lighter and try to figure out where in the hell I am.

It takes a few minutes but eventually I manage to decide that the nearest (small) town is Charming. For a minute I contemplate calling a tow truck. It would be a simple fix, but that simple fix would drain my already feeble funds. And I really can't have that. Especially if something is seriously wrong with the Jeep. It's overheated three times in the last two days, the radiator is probably destroyed.

So my best option is to hitchhike. It's still not a good option by anyone's standards but my alternative, sitting here, is far more nerve-wracking. I figure I can get Atlas in a motel and hopefully someone will give me a ride back to my car. Or I guess I'll be walking. A lot.

I begin digging through the luggage and start cramming the most important things into the backpack. My jaw aches dully where it's pressed into the seat.

Could be worse.

I wonder if the foundation's worn off yet. In this heat I wouldn't be surprised. I almost turn and tug the mirror down, just to check, to make sure it's still under control. The bigger part of me knows I'll see the same round bruises, spread across my jaw and lower cheek.

I don't want to see them anymore.

A rumble sounds in the distance. Atlas perks up. Immediately my finger prods the mirror, adjusting it so I can see behind me better. Just in case.

The rumble increases steadily for a solid minute before the first motorcycle rounds the corner. Then another. And another.

Well shit.

⁂

I'm not sure how I knew they would stop. It's like a sixth sense. Except it feels a lot like fear, that kind of dreading fear that sits low in your stomach, thick and unyielding. The motorcycles, there's five of them now, _oh_ _god five_   _too_ _many_ _too_ -, pull up behind me.

Four of them stay next to the ass end of the Jeep, but the one in the lead pulls up beside me.

"Car troubles?" He calls, tugging his helmet off and running a hand through shaggy shoulder length blonde hair.

He peers through the window and offers me a brilliant smile, all straight teeth and soft lips, the bit of blonde scruff around them adding to the allure. His eyes are a piercing light blue, framed with sturdy brows and unfairly long lashes.

However his attractiveness did very little to distract me from the unease of being alone with five, _five’s_ _too_ _many_ _can't_ _fight_ _off_ _five_ _fi_ -, random men.

"Uh yeah, just overheated, I think." I say, climbing out of the seat and circling around to the passenger's side, Atlas huffing an excited bark. If I'm about to die it's not going to be sitting down, _not_ _again_ _never_ _again_.

"Yeah?" Blondie asks tilting his head like a giant puppy. His eyes run over my jeans and loose dark green t shirt. Apparently he sees something he likes because his grin widens. He can’t be older than twenty five. A black leather vest hugs his broad shoulders.

"Yep." I agree, shifting slightly from foot to foot. Trying to find a good balance, solid postition.

"What's your name darlin’?" He asks, eyes zeroing in on my face, after his lazy appraisal of my body.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes at his ogling, I offer a mildly irritated “Charlotte." What was the harm in telling him my name? Though I couldn't see it now, it would probably come back and bite me in the ass.

"Well, Charlotte," He drawls my name slowly, almost like he's testing it. "There's a town a few miles north. That's where we're headed. And I happen to own the mechanic shop." The others leave their bikes and stand in a loose semi circle around Blondie.

"And a tow truck." One of the others adds. He's vaguely bigfoot-ish. The only guy taller then Blondie, with a dark brown beard and long tangled brown curls.

"I really don't think I need a tow. It'll cool down by itself in a while."

"I'm not leaving a girl on the side of the road." Blondie chuckles, hands sliding down and patting his pockets, quickly finding the bright yellow pack of cigarettes he was searching for.

"What's your name?" I ask, partially because I don’t want to call him "Blondie" to his face and partially because I want to change the subject. _Deflection_ , _deflection_ _could_ _work_.

"Jax. Jax Teller." He says his last name with considerable weight, as if it's a bit too heavy for his tongue. I feel like I should find it important.

"This is Ope." He gestures to previously dubbed bigfoot-ish man.

"Tig, Chibbs, and Happy." I look at each one in turn. Ope nods. Tig, a man in his early forties with brown curls and a goatee, gives me a wide, almost predatory grin. I take a half step back, _don't_ _like_ _that_ _look_ _that_ _looks_ _trouble-_ _pain-_ _look._  Chibbs glares at him, an exasperated thing born out of long familiarity, before smiling at me softly, "Pleasure."

He has a thick Scottish accent and his black hair is peppered with silver. The most dominant feature on his face is his scars. One on either cheek. They curl up into a gruesome smile.

As someone who has experience in the scars department I can tell that they're old, but so deep the hope of them fading as long since crumbled.

My hand does an awkward half wave entirely of its own free will, _the_ _hell_ _was_ _that_ _you_ _fucking idiot,_  and I turn to the last man. Happy. What the hell kinda name is "Happy"? It really doesn't fit him. He stares, it's more of a glower really, intensely at me. Alrighty then.

Happy has a shaved head, decorated in tattoos, and a lean but muscular build. His features are sharp, paired with small dark eyes and a near snake like mouth. He looks like the type who bites when you get too close.

They’re all wearing leather vests with the same logo on the back, a skeletal grim reaper and the words " Sons of Anarchy". So they were a gang. Of course. I was surrounded by a gang. Why fucking not, honestly?

"Nice to meet you all." I finally say, though it comes out more like a question. A question answered by easy laughter.

"How about you hop on,” Jax motions to his bike, "and we'll get everything fixed up?"

"I don't have any money." I admit, sheepish laughter breaking past my lips. _Why_ _the_ _fuck_ _would_ _you_ _laugh_ _Jesus_ _Christ_ _you_ _stupid_ _bitch_.

He shakes his head dismissively, "That's fine. It's on the house."

"I really can't accept that."

Charity was a hard no. No matter what. It didn't matter if someone promised they wanted nothing in return. It was all lies. Everyone craved something. Jax’s hand is in that lovely hair of his again. I think it's probably longer than mine, at least the same length. "And why's that?" Jax asks, tone politely curious. Not at all the venemous accusatory snarl I was preparing for.

Atlas gives a low throaty whine, unsure what to make of these strange men. The feeling's mutual bud, I think tiredly.

"My dog." I gesture to the slobbering heap of fur. "I can't leave him, he'll get too hot in the car." I cross my arms over my chest and try not to grin in triumph. I've won and they know it.

"That's a nice looking dog," Tig says with a low whistle, "What the hell is he?"

“Little bit of this, little bit of that." I shrug. Secretly, I can't help but be a bit pleased that someone noticed what a handsome boy he is.

Jax takes a lazy hit off his cigarette, contemplating. "Okay, we'll send the truck back and you two can ride in the cab." He raises a brow, daring me to object. I scowl slightly. I can't think of any excuse. At least this way I won't have to be away from Atlas at all. Thank God for small mercies, I suppose.

“Alright," I relent, "That'll work." _Gonna_ _regret_ _it_ _gonna_ _regret_ _it_ _so_ _bad_.

With a pleased expression on his face, Jax turns to Ope. For fucks sakes what is with these people's names?

Maybe it's a gang thing. Maybe they're all code names. "Call Half-Sack and have him bring the truck." Jax orders quietly. For a second I think they are actually messing with me. The wariness and confusion must've been evident on my face, because he shakes his head and offers a dry "Don't ask."

Ope digs a phone out of his pocket and begins dialing. "You guys go ahead, I'll wait here with Charlotte."

_Oh_ _no_ _oh_ _nono_.

"What?" My arms uncross and swing lightly at my sides.

"Hm?" Jax stops whispering to Chibs and looks at me. "You're staying here? With me?" Jax looks at me if I'm more then a little crazy. _He's not wrong you know. Crazy, voices in your head right now, crazy._

"Yep." A playful wink, "We're not gonna leave you without protection darlin'.”

If my thighs press together a bit tighter, it's not my fault. It's his and his damn winks and his smirks and his stupid fucking SoCal drawl.

"That's not - I mean you don't have to do that." I hate him a bit now. For doing this. I hate him for being his stupid cocky self, for being so fucking helpful, mostly I hate him because I like him.

Jax doesn't deign to respond and continues muttering to Chibbs. My chest tightens again, a harsh knot just above my heart. I don't want to be left alone with him. Not with any of them but especially not him.

He'll ask questions. I can tell, he's dying to and the only reason he hasn't already is his preoccupation with his friends. Once they're gone, so is my buffer.

But I have a minute, I remind myself, to fabricate all of the necessary lies. The trick is to add as much truth to them as you can. And to leave them straddling the line between the cliched and the extraordinary. I've discovered that that is where the realism lives.

Tired of standing there and staring at them, I grab the water bottle and little plastic bowl that serve as Atlas's drinking station. He may have just finished off the cold water but it's hot enough that he's panting again.

“We good?" Jax asks loudly. I glance backward as I hold the bowl under Atlas’ frothing mouth. Everyone but Jax has gotten back on their motorcycles. As they grumble their consent, he gives a brisk mocking salute. The bikes roar to life in a smooth fluid, motion that seems damn near synchronized. And then they pull away.

Leaving Jax, Atlas, and I alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will be updated approx. every two-three weeks btw. Hope you all enjoy and as always please check the tags and stay safe <3

Jax strides over to the open passenger door, that damn smirk never leaving his face. Atlas’ now wet muzzle pushes past my shoulder, as, in a desperate attempt to smell the intriguing stranger, he clambers over me. Jax takes a nearly automatic half step back. "Is the beast gonna bite me?" He asks, eyes more than a little wary on the dog and tone only somewhat teasing.

"Nah, Atlas doesn’t really bite." I assure him, keeping my grin in check. There's something darkly amusing about the big bad-ass biker afraid of an overgrown puppy.

"I asked if he would bite _me_." Jax clarifies, his thumb brushing over the edge of his jean pocket. I pretend to ponder it for a moment before shaking my head. Jax offers a hand to Atlas, who immediately coats it in a healthy layer of slobber. A pleased and relieved smile tugs at his lips.

"Ah a sheep in wolves' clothing." He muses. I don’t like how quickly he’s come to that conclusion, even though I’m the one who led him there. I should’ve let him think Atlas was thoroughly dangerous. So fuckin dumb.

"So," Jax leans his shoulder against the door behind me, close, close, close, and all alone too, so far away from other people, eyes once more assessing. "What are you doing out here?" The question sends a spike of anxiety coursing through me but it’s manageable. I’ve prepared for this, had at least a few minutes to think of something. "I'm moving." Punctuating the words with a matter-of-fact shrug seems to help with believability. Or so I’ve found.

"Yeah, I got that." Jax jerks his chin towards the suitcases and random shit piled in the backseat. _Of course he’s figured that out my God you really are dense aren’t you_. I feel the heat creep up my neck, from my own shitty half truth, from Jax’s bemused expression, from that damn voice and its ugly honesty.

"Then why'd you ask?" I retort. Being embarrassed is a sure trigger for my temper and I fucking hate it. Not as much as I hate the automatic guilt that comes after the snap of irritation, but still. Jax just quirks a brow in response.

"Why ya moving?"

“S’complicated." I mutter, cursing myself at the still-there petulance in my tone. Jax’s arm rests inside the open car window as he gifts a lazy "Always is, right?"

That’s easy to respond to at least, just a nod. He heaves a sigh and resumes his staring. There's something about it that’s too heavy, almost searching. I avert my eyes, observing the sparse desert landscape surrounding us, the occasional tree casting a long distorted shadow beneath the blistering sun.

"Wanna tell me who did that to your face? " Jax asks, much quieter, far too tense and serious to mean anything good for me.

_Could be worse._ My hand twitches with the urge to rub against the offending marks. Offering one of those uncomprehending vapid fake smiles, I explain,"A basketball actually. I was walking to work and a stray ball smacked into the side of my head.”

Jax's brows pull together and he gives me a slightly incredulous look. "That basketball happened to have five fingers huh?" Play dumb. Shouldn’t be hard for you anyway.

"What do you mean?" I lean back and tug my knees up to my chest. Although it doesn’t really obscure his view of my face, it makes me feel a bit more solid. Atlas has claimed the driver's seat and he spares me a moderately concerned glance before settling himself down with a huff of warm breath.

"Is that why you're moving?" Jax presses. Teeth begin gnawing at the inside of my cheek, the motion tracked by Jax. "Because a basketball hit me in the face?" I question innocently. He rolls his eyes and honestly I have to keep from joining him. I’m well aware of my pisspoor lying skills which, if it wasn’t so inconvenient, might’ve been funny considering how much time I’ve had to perfect them.

"How much longer do you think they'll be?" I ask, before he has time to revamp his curiosity.

“Eh, ten minutes.”

He produces another cigarette and as the tip glows a dull red, panic roils in the pit of my stomach. Not a cigar, far too small, _wouldn’t hurt nearly as much,_ I remind myself.

"You want one?"

I snap back to attention, suddenly and awfully aware of how long I’d been staring at it, him. "Sorry! What was that?”

Jax gives a cocky grin. Relief floods me as I realize he thought I was staring for a very different reason. "Do you want one?" He offers, this time a bit slower, while gesturing to the cigarette with his free hand.

"No, thank you. I don't smoke." My chin presses into my knees as Jax’s gaze sharpens, turns analyzing once more.

"Jesus, are you even old enough to smoke?"

Barely. "Of course," I answer, then immediately and with a touch of amusement, wonder what his reaction would’ve been if I’d said “no”.

"Just making sure you're not a run-away." Jax pushes off the Jeep and walks around to the front, hand drumming lazily on the hood. "Can you pop this for me darlin’?"

I lean over Atlas and pull the lever, within seconds Jax is well-hidden behind the faded red sheet of metal.

"I'm not. A runaway, that is." I clarify.

"Yeah? Well that's good. I'm not really into the whole jailbait thing." I nearly choke on a laugh.

"You called it. Just overheated. It should be good in an hour or so. You do have a cracked radiator, though. " Jax informs me, slamming the hood back into place. I flinch at the heavy metallic smash. A memory flickers through my mind at the sound. Nope, nope. Not here. He’s not here. But he will be soon, _God you’re so damn stupid, you think it’s going to be this easy?_ I suck in a breath, fingertips pinching the soft flesh of my thigh. The pain, sharp and grounding, clears my head instantly. Jax returns to his place beside the door.

"You alright?” He questions, softly so damn softly I want to rip my fucking hair out.

"Yep! All good."

In an effort to avoid his stare I notice the white tag on his chest. “What’s that mean? That patch.”

Jax’s fingertips brush the object in question, tracing over the bolded black letters. "It means I’m the president.” He chuckles slightly at that, as if he knows how arrogant it sounds.

“President of what?”

"The Sons of Anarchy.” He turns and gestures to the decal on the back of his vest, “We’re a motorcycle club.”

Club not gang. I turn the word over in my head, but gang fits better no matter how I look at it.

“Oh. That sounds fun.”

Jax nods as his tongue flicks over his bottom lip. "So, about the radiator."

“Do I need to get that fixed right away or can I keep going like this for a bit?” My knowledge of cars isn’t comparable to that of a mechanics but it is decent and I’m pretty sure that a cracked radiator is that big of a deal.

"You'll have to get it fixed eventually. It'll be fine for now, but it will keep overheating. Especially if you're planning on sticking around."

His statement prods me towards something I’d read before and I’m pleasantly surprised to realize I understand what he’s talking about. “Because it’s so hot here, right? It puts extra strain on the already busted radiator.”

“Yeah exactly!” Jax exclaims with a broad, contagious smile.

"Ah, then it is a good thing I'm not sticking around." I murmur.

"Where are you headed then?" He asks, point blank.

"I'm not sure," At least this is the truth in its rawest form, “I guess wherever I can find a place and a job." I admit, not liking how desperate and needy it makes me sound.

Jax hums happily,"Well just so happens I know of a job opening over in Charming." His casual tone is at odds with the devilishly pleased gleam in his eyes.

"Yeah? What kind of job?" I'm not sure what kind of jobs “clubs” know of but I don’t think they're the ones I’d be well suited to. Jax pushes a stray piece of hair behind his ear before replying.

"Bookkeeping."

He’s smiling softly now.

"Is that code for something or?..." I trail off awkwardly, _stupid so fucking stupid._

"Nope. Bookkeeping. Like for my shop. Keeping track of which cars belong to which customers, payments, costs, ordering parts. Ya know that kinda shit."

At _his_ shop. I try to imagine functioning like a normal person around Jax, not to mention the rest of them, and it is not a pretty picture. "Sorry, but uh I mean- thank you- but I’m- you know- I’m not qualified." I cringe internally at the rambling, stunted words. Jax doesn’t mind them, or at the very least doesn’t show it if he does, "You're definitely qualified. Hell, over-qualified, all you really need is a pulse.”

When he talks like that, all lazy accent and familiarity, it’s almost easy to grin back, "So I take it the job’s pretty simple?"

"Very."

"I mean I-I really was- wasn’t planning on staying.” Fuck this isn’t good. I can’t just tell him no, not after all he’s done, wouldn’t be fair, _fuckin’ A you sound like an ungrateful bitch._

He pauses, watching me speculatively. Or is it critically? _Of course it’s critically, you look like a nervous fucking wreck. Next you’ll start crying and he can get a real good look at how batshit you are._

“Listen,” Jax offers, raising a hand to silence the protests he must see forming in my head, “The radiator is gonna take us a day or two to fix. There's a motel in town, you could stay there and think about my offer? That way I can talk it over with guys too. I’m sure they won’t have problem with it though." Jax says.

"I guess I could, y-yeah." I mutter, truly needing to find some sense of self preservation. A part of me is overjoyed at the thought of having a minute to actually breathe and think. The bigger part is disgusted and terrified that I’m even considering working for men I just met. Men that, by all means, could be an even worse sort then I’ve dealt with. _Wouldn’t that be what you deserved, whore? It’s your own damn fault. Fuckin’ danger magnet._

Fortunately I'm saved from having to further consider my newfound predicament. A steady growl reverberates through the gravel turnout as the tow truck pulls up besides us. It’s a white Ford pickup with a sand colored stripe down the side, red and white lettering clearly states “TM Auto Service”.

It seems Half-Sack has arrived.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im the worst gremlin of all time and legit fixed like 3/4s of this chapter and then just?? forgot??? to finish and post it?? ANYWAY APOLOGIES FOR THAT ONE FOLKS
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr @somanyshipsss or @tonystarksbish <3

A moment too late I realize I’d never asked about the origin of Half-Sack’s name. The man in question jumps out of the tow truck and approaches us with a wide grin on his face.

"Bout time!" Jax hollers at the ginger haired young man. Half-Sack and I both jump. "Sorry." He stutters and looks back at me.

"Charlotte, right? I'm Half-Sack." This is announced proudly, complete with his hand sticking out in front of him.

I hop out of the Jeep and take the offered hand tentatively, "Nice to meet you, Half-Sack." He looks between Jax and I with enough caution that I start to copy him, wondering what in the hell he’s looking for. Apparently satisfied with what he sees he offers me a boyishly charming smile and motions to the car.

"We'll get ya all fixed up, don’t worry." He assures me, hooking his thumbs in his belt. He’s so soft and timidly sweet that it’s hard not to giggle. Somehow I manage. Jax shoots him a glare and continues barking orders. 

"Should I get Atlas?" I ask, more in an effort to get out of the line of fire than actual concern over his opinion.

"Probably." The pup in question makes a pleased keening yelp as I produce the lead and struggle to attach it to his jiggling collar. Jax stands in front of the Jeep, motioning lazily with a hand as Half-Sack scrambles back into the tow truck and begins the tedious process of lining it up with my bumper. 

⁂

An hour later I find myself surveying my room in the town’s only motel. It isn't pretty, but it certainly isn’t as terrible as it could be. The comforter, a vibrant green, decorated heavily with floral print, is soft and plush. The carpet thick and maroon. I toss my backpack onto the countertop as Atlas launches himself onto the bed with the grace of a brain-damaged goblin. A quick glance into the small bathroom reveals it to be relatively clean, thank God. Unfortunately that puts an end to the tour of the room.

Which means I’ve got to look in the mirror, get ready for the rest of the day, the week.

Too far apart brown eyes stare back at me, dark bags beneath them. Braided back brown hair has begun to escape its confines, clinging to my forehead. Thankfully the bruising isn’t _too_ noticeable, the makeup coating it making it seem less severe, and older than it really is. Truthfully I’m not that concerned with how the outside looks. It’s the inside that scares me, the waves pounding relentlessly against their prison.

A prison which has begun to show signs of its never-ending struggle. If I stay here staring for long enough, will I watch the cracks appear?

_Could be worse._

I’d handle the fractures as they came. 

What I couldn't handle, however, was another second without a shower. Moving through the motions with an exhausted, near mechanical gait, I drop the bathtub plug into the drain and turn the water on. For as long as I can remember I’ve done that, filled the tub even when I’m just showering. There’s something soothing about the water slowly climbing up my legs. 

As I strip off my dusty, sweaty clothes I let my mind wander back to the ride here with Half-Sack. In the fifteen minute drive to the motel I had learned a startling amount about the man. For instance, he was a vegetarian, he loved animals but was more of a cat person than a dog person, and he'd lost a testicle in Iraq.

I chuckle as I step into the hot stream of water. Immediately after explaining the schematics of it, and attempting to _reveal_ it, which thankfully was stopped immediately by my shout and the truck crossing over the centerline hazardly, Half-Sack had apologized profusely, a horrified expression taking up a permanent residence on his face, and I’d spent the rest of the ride reassuring him it was fine. Funny, even. It was something much needed, that speck of humor.

Jax had followed us on his bike. He’d even stopped here at the motel to let me know that he was going to go and talk to his friends about the job I was apparently interested in. I agreed to wait here for a few hours, honestly they have my car I don’t know where in the hell he thought I would scuttle off to, until Jax came back to pick me up and take me on a tour of the town.

Now of course it all seemed like a terrible idea, the nonexistent self preservation in full swing.

I step into the shower and let the hot water run over me. _Can’t wash it all away, can you?_ The memories that bite and tear at the edges of consciousness are allowed full reign. I'd have to think of them eventually. 

The thing people don’t generally understand about shit like this is that you can’t just sit down and plot out exactly how it started, everytime it happened. All of it just sort of pops up at random, you can’t anticipate or stop it. And it doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing, it hovers and clings just as close as your shadow.

So it isn’t surprising that it chooses now to hit, that it strikes low and merciless and doesn’t stop until I’m sitting on the floor of the shower stall with my head pinned between my knees, doesn’t let up until tears fall freely and my lungs strain, too full but utterly empty all at once.

No, it isn’t much of a surprise but I give into it all the same.

 

 **⁂** Jax's POV **⁂**

 

Jax looks at his brothers, resting his hands in front of him on the redwood table, fingertip tracing a familiar path through the fine grains. 

Tig grins, delight sparking in hooded blue eyes, "Yes. Definitely yes."

"Why is it that the one day I stay here, you find a damsel in distress?" Bobby sighs.

"Because they all hide when you're around?" Tig quips, earning a swat on the back of the head that shows all the signs of something that will escalate quicker than Jax wants it to.

"Can we make it through one Goddamn meeting without a fist fight?”

Bobby rolls his eyes, "I don't care who takes the job, as long as I can stop doing it."

Jax looks to his right, fairly confident of Opie’s vote at this point,  "Fine with me, she seems sweet and all." There’s something else there, under his best friend’s tone, that puts him on edge. Just a bit. Something left unsaid or something he doesn’t want said in front of everyone else. He tucks it away for later thought and quirks a brow at his next target.

Chibs shrugs, knuckles drumming a lazy beat on the arm of his chair,"You think it’ll be a good fit then go for it.”

He does, and it doesn’t have too much to do with her full mouth or the curve of her waist, "I think she doesn't have anywhere else to go, needs work and cash. We need help and can pay. Works for both parties."

To be honest, aside from those reasons, Jax didn’t really know why he’d offered her the job. Maybe he just wasn’t ready for her to leave, maybe he just wants to hear her laugh again. There was also the matter of the bruises on her face. His hand clenches automatically, a tic of anger creeping up on him. 

He wasn't stupid. Jax knew what it looked like when someone got hit. 

As if reading his mind, Happy says,"She's a jumpy little thing. All beat up too." 

"So?" Tig asks, only to be rebuked by a glare from his lover, Chibs’ scowl a force to be reckoned with.

"Hap does have a point." Chibs concedes, "Maybe we should ask. See what we're dealing with here, we can’t exactly harbor some runaway, it’d bring too much heat."

Jax sighs "Already asked. She fell." The word tastes bitter on his tongue, a blatant lie that makes his lips twist irritably.

They all look at their President in various stages of disbelief.

"I said I asked. Not that I believed her." He clarifies, “But she says she’s not a runaway, obviously we’ll check her ID and make sure she isn’t lying about that too.”

His traitorous eyes dart to the clock across the room, he promised Charlotte he’d be there soon and, even though he’s sure she isn’t counting down the seconds to his return, Jax doesn’t want to start off on the wrong foot anymore than he has to. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to having her on his bike, to feeling her pressed up against him. 

"We cross that bridge when we get there." Opie suggests and honestly Jax doesn’t know what he’d do without the hairy bastard. 

"Okay. So do I have to take a vote or are we good?" 

His brothers murmur their approval and he slams the gavel down sharply, happy to be done with this. After all he has other business to deal with.

Jax heads out to the main room and spots said business.

Half-Sack's leaning against the bar, chatting it up with Bobby, that stupid smirk on his face.

"Sack!" Jax booms, a wicked bit of pleasure coursing through him as Half-Sack jumps. "In." He points to the room behind him.

Bobby glances between them nervously and Jaz can’t help his snort. Bobby's getting soft. He trails after Half-Sack lazily, waiting until the boy has sat down before sprawling out into his own seat at the head of the table. It doesn’t escape his notice that Half-Sack has sat as far away from him as the room will allow. 

"What's up prez?" He asks, a nervous grin taking over.

Jax smiles back, all flashing teeth, "Why in the hell were you all over the road today?" 

He isn't concerned about that, though. What he really wants is to make sure Half-Sack keeps his distance from Charlotte. The best way to do that, in Jax's vast experience, is intimidation.

"Oh, uh. I - um. Was I?" Half-Sack stutters.

"Yeah. You were." 

"Didn't mean to. Maybe the alignment's off or somethin’?” 

"No, I don't think it is." Jax says evenly and it's almost too fun watching him squirm.

"I'll uh, double check if ya want me to and make sure. . . Y'know I'm glad about Charlotte, that she's gonna work here, I mean." Half-Sack adds in a risk-it-all attempt to change the topic before he says something too provoking, too revealing. 

"Eavesdropping?" Jax asks digging through his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he knows is in there. 

"What!? No, I just asked Bobby what the verdict was." 

"Why you so interested?" Jax asks, as if he doesn't already know. Half-Sack couldn't keep his eyes of Charlotte's tits. Not that Jax had much more success but still, he was at least _subtle_ about it.

"No reason. She's just a nice girl, ya know?" Half-Sack shrugs, eyes cast down to his hands in his lap.

It’s right about now that Jax starts to realize how fucking stupid this whole thing is. He hasn't done something like this since high school. With Tara. It used to drive him fucking insane when some guy would hit on her. Jax had gotten into countless fist fights over her. No one but Tara had ever made him want to keep them all to himself and that wasn’t going to change all of a sudden.

Charlotte sure as hell isn’t going to be the new Tara.

_Don’t make her out to be something she isn’t, don’t go down that road._

"Yeah. I know." Jax says, tone a lot more tired than it was seconds before. Thinking about this kinda shit, about _her,_  always fucks with his head.

"So...?" Half-Sack trails off expectantly, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Get." Jax jerks his head toward the door and Half-Sack wastes no time in scurrying from the room.

He realizes that he's only had one conversation with this girl, realizes that all of this is so ridiculously preemptive. He doesn’t even know if he wants her to like him yet, but either way she definitely doesn’t. She hasn’t even answered a single fucking question truthfully.

And he does need answers, especially if she’s going to be working for him.

Absently pinching the glowing end of his cigarette off and dropping it into the ashtray,  Jax wonders how she'll handle the job. He doesn't think she’ll have a hard time with the actual work. Might have some trouble with the customers, but that's just because she's such a sexy little thing. 

But he can make sure no one fucks with her, or at the very least that if they do they’ll live to regret it. 

Which brings his head back to those damn bruises and, more importantly, who made them.

He doesn’t think that’s an answer he’ll get today or any time soon. It really is a shame he isn’t a more patient person. But as he considers the mental image of Charlotte’s thighs squeezing the leather of his bike’s seat, Jax finds himself thinking that maybe he could learn to not hate the waiting game so much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early update bc i feel bad about forgetting the last one and this one is kinda filler-y. thank u all for reading and, hopefully, leaving kudos :)

After an hour of relative peace I can’t keep myself from sneaking a quick peek through the peephole. There’s too many people walking by and it’s just adding to my paranoia, loud footsteps echoing past and triggering a nervous jittery kind of energy. Atlas grunts softly and wiggles his massive body closer to me, guiding me back towards the bed.

"What should we do, handsome?" I ask, gently rubbing the mass of dark fur between his ears. Honestly Atlas is probably better at giving advice than anyone else I know and after today, my less than perfect moment of panic, I need it. 

I glance down at my clothes, a plain white v neck t shirt and a pair of jean cutoffs, and contemplate changing for the tenth time. I don't want Jax to get any ideas, but it’s way too hot to wear pants. I'd walked Atlas around the motel right after I got out of the shower and was almost immediately sweating. 

Besides the shorts weren’t short enough to give the wrong idea, I hoped, but were still less sweltering than anything else I owned. And it wasn’t like I could wear a tank top. Not without provoking more questions than I wanted to answer. 

A knock on the door makes me jump, legs swinging over the edge of the bed and landing with a shaky _thwump_ on too soft carpet. Atlas barks, ignoring my shushing as I  look through the peephole again. Thankfully it’s only Jax standing in front of my room.

I release a breath I hadn't entirely known I was holding as I unlock the door.

Jax’s smirk crosses pulls at his mouth as soon as we come face to face. His hazy blue eyes once again rove up and down me, before he offers a cheerful,"Hey," 

I don't reply besides a curt smile, already regretting these damn shorts. Fortunately Atlas trots up, shouldering past me and staring up at Jax as he sniffs the man’s pants curiously. His shoulders are a handful of inches past Jax's hips. Hips that lean against the constraints of jeans and look just too damn wickedly sharp. 

_Careful lovey, bound to get cut._

It isn’t that he’s some ridiculously attractive guy. Sure, he’s pretty enough but it’s the way he uses all of it. Like weapons in a jam-packed arsenal, too practiced, too talented to ignore. Jax knows exactly what he’s doing and it’s overwhelming in the worst sort of way. 

He starts scratching Atlas' ears lazily, all previous caution around the mutt seemingly gone. “You about ready to go?"

“Uh huh." 

Grabbing my bag from the rocker next to the window and slinging it over a shoulder, I ask, "I should probably leave Atlas here right?" 

Jax chuckles, a low smooth sort of sound, again impossible to ignore, "How in the hell did you plan on bringing him, darlin’?" 

That momentarily throws me and I throw a cautious glance out into the parking lot behind him, searching for the massive tow truck. I can’t find it. However there _is_ a motorcycle that’s most definitely a new addition. My stomach clenches, my hands quick to follow.

He wants, no _expects,_ me to ride on that? With him? I feel my mouth slacken and force my breaths to remain even as Jax looks at me like I'm the funniest thing he's ever seen. 

I should've thought about this. Obviously he would be on his bike. They’re a fucking motorcycle gang. Of course he would be on his bike. All this time and I didn't even think of it. _Really are a stupid bitch, aren’t you?_

"You gonna faint on me?" Jax asks, although it’s ninety percent teasing and ten percent caution. 

"What? No, I'm - I'm ready." And I am because this is stupid and I’m not going to panic, won’t give the butterflies in my stomach one inch of control. It might even be fun, open road, wind in your face, and all that good shit. Just have to get over touching him, and the borderline paralyzing fear of crashing and dying in a fire-y explosion. _Got lucky once, doubt it’ll happen again._

It’s a complicated sort of hell, but I manage it silently, ignoring the way Jax steps aside as I motion Atlas back inside the room. He listens, trotting back up to the bed that is now his.

I double check his water bowl just to make sure he’ll be okay while I’m gone, flick the bathroom light off and turn on a lamp instead. Jax waits patiently, tucking his hands into his pockets and whistling a soft tune. If he knows I’m stalling he doesn’t show it. 

I don’t bother voicing any concerns, just stride out toward the bike like I’m not fighting the urge to throw up. He still doesn’t comment but it looks like it’s getting harder for him not to laugh, especially as his hands wrap around the handlebars and I can’t control the grimace on my face.

"So, what do I need to do?" I finally ask when it’s clear he isn’t about to explain it to me. Asshole. The sweetly metallic taste of blood stings my tongue as I bite my cheek a little too hard.

"Hold on?" Jax suggests drily. He grabs the helmet off the back of the bike and extends it toward me. Helmet, singular, as in he only has the one. 

I shake my head, "It’s okay, I don't need a helmet." 

Jax laughs again and I feel my frustration grow. It feels like he’s laughing too much, surely he doesn’t need to make me feel like a jackass at every turn? _But you’re so fucking cute when they laugh at you._

"Yes, you do."

"But then you won't have one."

Jax doesn’t relent, keeps the gleaming black helmet held out for me, "I don't need one. You do." 

"Why’s that?" I ask, hating the fact that I’m annoying him but not being able to stop doing so. 

Jax sighs and when he answers it’s with a cocky lilt to his words, "I'm not gonna crash, okay? So I have no need for a helmet, but it'll make you feel better to have one on. Placebo effect." 

My face flushes with irritation as I snatch it from him. I don't feel nearly as bad anymore. I shove the helmet down on my head and grab the chinstraps. It’s surprisingly similar to horseback riding headgear and I know my way around those pretty well.

Even though I haven't ridden in years, it’s one of those things that just comes back naturally, muscle memory.

An added bonus is Jax’s slightly stunned look as I quickly clasp and tighten it. His head tilts and he reaches forward, fingertip attempting to hook on the strap. I flinch back at the sudden movement, _close too close,_ and he stills, hand hanging in midair.

"Just making sure it's tight enough," Jax murmurs. 

"Sorry bout that," I say, forcing myself to stay still as his hand grazes the underside of my jaw, tugs lightly at the strap. My skin tingles with an awful kind of pleasure wherever he brushes it. 

"Perfect." He says briskly, leaning away. I ignore the slight stab of disappointment, let it be swept away by relief. 

"We good?" 

"Yep." I exhale, not quite shakily but far from steady. Jax's grin reappears as he swings a leg over the bike. His hands move swiftly, first to the side, twisting a knob, and then back to the handlebars. His foot slams down on the little lever coming out of the side and the bike roars to life.

Jax half turns and jerks his chin to the empty space behind him.

_Could be worse._  

Resting a hand on the seat, I think I hear Jax laugh, _again,_ the absolute bastard. I grit my teeth and gather every ounce of resolve as I try to mimic how he threw his leg over. The leather is startlingly warm against my bare legs. The engine's rumble radiates through me, an almost pleasant feeling.

"Hold on." Jax reminds me unnecessarily.

I nod, then realize he can't see me so I slip my arms under his and hold onto my own wrists, locking them across Jax’s chest. It’s impossible to avoid the smell of his vest when it’s this close to my nose. It’s a hazy kind of scent, all leather and oil, a hint of cigarette smoke. 

I huff out a soft breath, making sure to arch my back so I’m not pressed against him, so there’s as much room between the two of us as I can make. 

As the bike starts to move, I can’t keep my head straight without the risk of breaking my nose against Jax’s spine, so I turn and press my cheek lightly against his back. 

Maybe it was just because we had driven over the cement lip of the motel parking lot, but I could've sworn I felt Jax shudder.


	5. Chapter 5

Jax takes a deep breath as Charlotte's arms squeeze him. It's not that the position is unfamiliar. He's had so many girls on this bike that he really can’t remember most of them. They all blend together after a while. He had tried to make it a rule to steer clear of brunettes after Tara. But he's always been very good at breaking rules.

A solid five minutes in, he realizes he’d forgotten to tell Charlotte about the pegs. Feeling like a jackass he glances backward to make sure her feet have found their way onto them. It honestly hadn’t even occurred to him he would need to explain.

Any girl riding bitch with him knew what to do. 

He knows he should be driving slower. To prolong the feeling of her chest brushing against his back, slender arms locked around him. And to keep that ungodly nervous look off her face. It doesn’t matter too much either way, the town is small and soon enough they’re pulling into the Teller-Morrow parking lot. He wonders absently what his mom would think of Charlotte and almost lets out a bitter laugh, he can hear the sneer in her voice as she makes some cutting quip about the shiner decorating the brunette’s face.

Yeah, he isn't going to kid himself. Gemma would probably hate her. As he parks his bike next to Chibs’ Jax makes sure to shove those thoughts down deep enough that the way they make him ache won’t show on his face. As soon as he kills the engine Charlotte’s arms disappear, but he’s quick to hide that disappointment too. 

"How was that?" He asks curiously.

"Wonderful." Charlotte says, her voice soft, almost breathy and once again Jax has to wonder if she’s some sort of temptress sent from his own personal hell. 

He chuckles drily, "Glad you enjoyed it." 

And he is. Next time they'll take a longer route, maybe go a county over. Charlotte shimmies back along the seat and Jax feels her legs swing off the pegs.

"Watch your legs. The exhaust's hot." 

He feels like that warning makes up for forgetting to tell her about the pegs.

With a murmured apology, Charlotte climbs off carefully. 

He almost asks what she's sorry about, instead settling for a confused look that she greets with a painfully fake smile. But watching as one of her slender hands spreads out on his seat, he finds he can forgive just about anything.

Jax hops off the bike and begins to gesture lazily at each of the buildings bordering the compound, offering a brief explanation for what’s inside them. He's not exactly paying attention. Well, not to whatever bullshit he’s spewing, that is. But he is paying very close attention to Charlotte. 

To the v of her shirt that gives him a sinful glance at the top of rounded tits that he just _knows_ would fill his hands up perfectly. To the shorts that hug her hips and leave her legs perfectly bare. To the dirty sneakers on her feet that he hadn’t noticed before but for some reason can’t stop grinning at now. But soon enough, not to his surprise unfortunately, his head starts to get him into trouble, begins supplying him with images of her without any thing on. 

_Nope not a good look, knock that shit out, save it for later._

He clears his throat and forces his eyes back on her face, only to stare at the back of his helmet. 

"Ah, you know, ya might want to take that off," He suggests, fighting back a laugh at the flush that spreads over her chest. Charlotte takes the helmet off in record time and hands it back to him with pursed lips and more than a hint of temper in her eyes.

Twirling it between his hands, Jax manages another careful look at her face. The dark bruises under her eyes and around her cheek are mostly covered, all that’s left are the too stark edges that even makeup couldn’t hide. But as his mouth opens, to ask because it isn’t the right time but he doubts there will ever be one, Charlotte sets her sights on the clubhouse and cuts him off before he can begin.

“Am I going to get to meet the rest of you before I decide?” 

"Of course darlin’, I’ll take you to them." He says and heads for his clubhouse, trying to ignore the vague sense that she’s evaded him once again. 

She trails behind him with a shakily determined expression and he almost wants to reassure that no one here is going to bite. But Jax is pretty sure that by giving the fear in her head a voice he’d only make her more nervous.

He opens the door and stands to the side. He can't help himself, has to add a "Ladies first." and the way Charlotte's face screws up is more than worth it. She's just so damn cute. And as she strides into the clubhouse he does think she looks a little bit like she's marching off to war. He shakes his head, amused with the little drama queen in front of him. 

He follows her in, lets the door clang shut behind them and is immediately cut off by Happy who, after giving Charlotte a nod of greeting, pulls him aside. 

Jax waves her ahead and listens as Happy lets him know he’ll be AWOL over the weekend, more troubles with his aunt, and Jax is quick to assure him it’s fine.

“Don’t worry about it, man. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” He mentally curses himself for not keeping a closer tab on all this, he should’ve already offered but Happy doesn’t seem upset. On the contrary he offers Jax a quiet smile and bumps their shoulders together as he heads out. 

It only takes a second to find where Charlotte’s wandered off to. She stands in front of their wall of mugshots, hands clenched together and entirely too stiff, rigid. But he stays quiet letting her look her fill. She doesn't say anything and after a second her shoulders jerk, a strained sort of noise wheezing out of her lips as she continues to stare at the wall.   

He steps forward cautiously, half scanning the room for anything or anyone that might be the cause for _this._ But when she doesn’t react his hand reaches out, resting lightly on a too thin shoulder. Still she doesn’t move, beyond the tension in her muscles that he can now feel.

Jax shakes her gently, pitching his voice low as he asks, "Hey, you okay?" 

He bites back that pang of worry and leans forward, tilting his head to catch her eye, until she has to look at him. Probably shouldn’t leave his hand on her shoulder but what’s done is done. Charlotte's big dark eyes stare directly at him and for a heartbeat there's such a stunned, almost afraid look in them that he can feel his own face go slack in response.

And yet it's gone so quickly he might've imagined it.

"Yeah, sorry. I’m fine!" She says, enthusiasm once more painfully forced. He begins to object, really he does because that shit was the opposite of fine, and the need to ask what scared her is too strong. However Charlotte’s much quicker than him, lips parting as she asks what the dorm room are. 

So he gives her some half-assed explanation of that being where most of the guys end up crashing. But she notices the unsettled way he speaks, if the way she frowns, the way her fingers spin the delicate silver ring on her right hand around, is any indication.

He makes it half-way down the hall and pounds on Half-Sack's door, knowing he’ll be the least frightening person for Charlotte to see first. And possibly the most eager to see her but he pushes that thought out too. He can hear Half-Sack launch out of bed and he has to hide his amusement as the prospect answers quickly.

"Char's here." Jax says, by way of explanation, the nickname rolling of his tongue in a way that makes him want to say it again. 

"Charlotte?" His whole body swings through the doorway, wrapping around the corner like an overeager puppy and Jax has to reache over and swat at the back of his head as he attempts to saunter his way back to the main room.

He has a feeling Half-Sack isn’t going to get over this little crush anytime soon. But it’s okay. Jax doesn't really mind that, better someone under his thumb than some random fucker he’d have to actually work to intimidate. 

Quickly, he gets the rest of the guys together and herds them out into the front room, trying not to grumble under his breath as he watches that ginger bastard try and flirt. It wasn’t like he could just let that happen right in front of him, especially not after seeing one of Charlotte’s episodes. It’s too clear that she isn’t in the right mind to turn down clingy guys, doesn’t want to, so Jax guesses he’ll have to for her. 

So his hand finds a spot on the back of Sack’s shirt, jerking him just far enough back that Char looks like she can breathe again. Thankfully Bobby steps in, introducing himself and starting his line of questioning that Jax guesses will serve as her interview. 

He listens as she begins to list off her previous employers, but she doesn’t show any real emotion until she mentions that her last job was at an animal shelter. And it definitely clicks when he pictures the adoration that fills her face whenever she looks at that massive mongrel of hers. Bobby is more than polite and explains the job better than Jax had, which wasn’t hard to do but still.

He’s also the one to bring up the matter of payment and what she’ll make. Jax had told him to go for something above minimum wage but not so high that she’d turn them down. And he’s pleased to see it works. 

Jax does wonder how long it'll take for her to realize not all of their "jobs" are legal. Maybe he can keep it all separate and she'll never guess. But that would be too easy. And already he can tell she's too smart for that. 

He glances at the clock on the wall, startled to find that it’s almost time for church. The rest of the guys'll be here in a minute. 

"So it sounds like we gotta deal, then?" 

Charlotte doesn't answer, only side eyes him with a look that isn’t very friendly at all, and Chibs suggests suggests giving her the weekend to think about it. 

“I’ll let you know before Monday?” She asks, thumbs hooking in her own belt loops, as she sways softly to some unknown rhythm. 

He'd like to know quite a few things before Monday. Like why she froze up like that and who in the hell it was that gave her those bruises. If they were still causing her problems. 

But he’d be a fool to think she'd tell him anything, short of whether of not she'd accept the job. Fortunately he’s damn near positive she won’t turn him down, which gives him awhile to coax out the rest of those answers. But when Charlotte turns to Half-Sack, because of fucking course she figured he’d be the weakest link, and asks about the cost of repairs for her Jeep, Jax has to bite back his annoyance. 

"It's on the house, remember?" He manages to sound only slightly exasperated which definitely counts as a win. 

It’s equal parts irritating and arousing when Charlotte scowls over at him. The crease between her brows deep and stubborn, lips twisting upward determinedly. Bobby snickers beside him. 

"I can't _not_ pay for anything." 

“Yeah you definitely can." He watches as she frowns, a dangerous glint sparking her brown eyes. Charlotte draws herself up to her full height, which really isn't much, and crosses her arms before saying "No, actually I really can't."

Jax realizes that it'll take awhile to make her budge and he really doesn’t have the time right now. So he takes the easy way out. He takes a step closer, not enough to intimidate because that sure as shit _isn’t_ what he wants to do and meets her stare head on as he winks and says, "Yes you really can." 

He expects what happen next. Charlotte's face flushing once more, lips parted slightly. Jax considers this a bit of a dirty trick sure, but it’s never not gotten him what he wanted. 

However this time there’s a catch, because he wasn’t ready for the way her response made his stomach clench, something too damn close nerves flooding him. Something that makes him bite the inside of his cheek and wish he’d tried to deal with this differently.

Too late. 

Jax realizes that everyone is staring at them so he briskly nods his head, as if confirming his success, but it doesn’t get rid of that feeling so it's a worthless gesture. 

"Come on. I'll give ya a tour of the office and you can grab anything else you might need out of the Jeep." 

Charlotte nods and the indignation on her face is still there. But there’s something else, something new, and it does nothing but add to his anxiety. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate this ending but whatever *finger guns*


End file.
